Take My Hand- A Johnlock Fanfic
by Emkinz
Summary: "It didn't start with much- at least neither of them thought much of it at the time." Until, to the surprise of both of them, Sherlock begins to realize he cares more about John than he had hoped to show.


It didn't start with much- at least neither of them thought much of it at the time.

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had returned from a quite exhausting case late that night. John had immediately sunken onto the couch, obviously very tired. Sherlock was, too, but as usual, he made an effort not to show it (though John seemed to see past this every time). However, this time John was too tired to notice anything, and was soon asleep on the couch in a matter of minutes.

Sherlock was left standing next to the couch, where he had been pretending to be immersed in the photos scattered across the wall from the previous case. Clearly this was not a very good excuse for "not being tired," as he later realized he had been "analyzing" the photos from the case the two flatmates had just finished, but he hadn't wanted to worry his friend. He glanced over at the sleeping John, not really knowing what he was supposed to do now.

" _Go to sleep."_ He could hear the doctor's voice in his head from the many times he had attempted to convince Sherlock to finally get some rest while he had stubbornly refused.

He looked toward his bedroom, which had been left unused for the past few nights while Sherlock had spent every hour pacing across the floor in front of the photos, then back to John again. Sherlock didn't know why only this specific time he had thought of it, but he took off his heavy black trench coat and gingerly laid it over John as a makeshift blanket. He stood rather awkwardly over his friend fro a few seconds, then hastily brought himself to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. Sherlock settled himself in his favourite chair, listening to the quiet sound of John's steady breathing.

John awoke to the light of the next morning. A heavy blanket seemed to have had been lain over him, and he soon realized he was on the couch in the living room instead of in his own bead. Confusedly, he yawned ad stood up, the events of last night coming back to him. It was only when he shook out the blanket to fold it when he realized it wasn't a blanket at all, it was… Sherlock's… coat?

He quickly looked around the room when he heard a soft noise come from behind him.

Sprawled in his self-designated armchair was Sherlock, still asleep (for once, since usually he was in the kitchen and wide awake before John), covered in sheets and with a empty cup still in his hand. Now, John knew better than to question the detective's antics, but he couldn't ignore the fact that, when peering into Sherlock's own bedroom, he seemed to have taken his entire bed with him to the living room, as the sheets had been messily pulled off and dragged to the chair in which he was sleeping. Quietly, John carefully removed the cup from Sherlock's hand and set it in the sink, trying not to wake him and still very perplexed with the circumstances to which he woke up.

It was a few seconds before Sherlock jerked awake, spotted John at the kitchen sink, and then realized the how he had been sleeping and hastily threw the sheets off of him, clearing his throat awkwardly and obviously slightly embarrassed. He attempted to gather up the sheets and his coat, which was still lying on the couch, and slovenly threw them onto his bed.

Sherlock stepped into the kitchen and sat down, sitting rather rigidly in his chair, clasping his hands upon the table. "...Morning," he said, after a few seconds' silence.

"Good morning," replied John, looking into the fridge. "Er… would you like to explain what exactly you were doing in the living room with half of your bed?"

Sherlock looked down at the table, suddenly unable to look at John. "Err… um… ah, n-not… particularly."

Straightening and closing the fridge, John threw Sherlock a suspicious look, but gave up on questioning him for now and proceeded to check the cupboards for any sort of breakfast foods. "Sherlock, have we got _anything_ to eat?" He asked, after failing to find anything edible there either. He guessed that, after being on a case for a few days, Sherlock hadn't eaten really anything and John had consumed the last of it yesterday.

"Oh. Um, no, I… guess not. I'll, uh… get something," the detective finished quickly, springing up from his chair and heading to his room to retrieve his coat.

John watched through the open door as Sherlock dug through the ball of sheets on his bed and pulled his coat put from under them, not even bothering to put on some proper clothes, and left the flat wrapped in his trench. Still extremely confused, John decided that this was normal (after all, Sherlock had once visited Buckingham Palace in nothing but a _sheet_ , and it had required a good deal of convincing to get him to put something on) and went to make himself some tea. Still, this was very out of character for Sherlock- leaving at 8 in the morning to get food so they (usually only meaning John) could eat at home? And he couldn't forget that Sherlock had made a large effort to sleep in the living room with him as well… Why?

A thought suddenly occurred to him, but he quickly pushed it from his mind. It just didn't seem possible for Sherlock Holmes, of all people.

Maybe it was because Sherlock liked to be near John, because he _wanted_ to be with him?


End file.
